Just a few thoughts before you start reading this update: I mentioned in the 'prologue' that Saudade was dedicated in part to Gaz1247, I believe the fanfiction world knows him as Aztec-08 :) Also, I want y'all to know that DaisyJane is clairvoyant. And finally, editlady617, get well soon!

CHAPTER 4

London, 1772

He peered through the dark, misty woods like an animal scenting danger. The feeling of trepidation began to throb within his chest. He never saw such thick fog before except… except… he could not remember. But it was all eerily familiar. He took a tentative step forward and gave a small startled jump when the trees sprung to life, branches reaching out toward him menacingly.

He fled, fear seizing his heart in a tight grip. The thick fog cloaked ghostly shadows as they stalked him through the haunted forest. He did not know where he was going, lost in a horror he could not name. The feeling of dread grew and grew until it was almost palpable. He sped on, lungs bursting, heart hammering, the mist like cold fingers caressing his cheek, wrapping itself around his ankles. His eyes roved desperately around him, seeking for the safety that lay somewhere just beyond the gray mist.

Then, before his eyes, there loomed a figure enshrouded in a dark cloak, walking sedately as if there was nothing to be alarmed about. Somehow, he knew that the figure could lead him to a place of refuge from this maddening forest of uncertainty. He called out to the mysterious form but whoever it was continued walking. He willed his feet to run faster. When he was within arm's reach, his hand clamped down onto the figure's shoulder.

The stranger turned around.

The face had no discernible features, blurred by the darkness and mist surrounding them… Except for the eyes. No amount of fog can dim the fiery flame that smoldered within the twin sapphire orbs. They glowed, drawing him in, ensnaring him, drowning him. A name floated across his mind but he was not quick enough to grasp it. He drew his breath in sharply when he felt a sudden stab of pain in his heart.

He looked down and saw an ancient sword sticking out from his chest, the stranger's hand slowly but surely pushing the blade in. Panicked, he clawed at the hilt, hand wrapping around hers. He tried to pull the sword out and every time he gained an inch, the fog intensified, the ghostly shadows howling in despair. He felt her hand tightening around the handle and she pushed. Slow. Deliberate. He watched in horror as the sword was finally buried in his chest, up to the hilt.

He lifted his startled gaze, locking into those captivating blue eyes again and despite the blurry face, he could have sworn… that she was smiling.

He bolted upright in bed, panting, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and bare torso.

"The dream again, sir?" His trusted manservant asked.

He nodded curtly, rubbing his chest, still feeling the blade sliding slowly into his heart. The nightmare had felt so real that he was surprised his hand did not come off stained with his blood.

He passed under the arch of the entryway of The Elysium, blind to the graceful opulence of the classical Greco-Roman themed décor. An exceptionally fine replica of Boticelli's painting, 'The Birth of Venus,' greeted him at the anteroom. The thick ivory colored carpet that stretched throughout the column-lined room was streaked in gray and black to give the impression that the floor was made of marble tiles. The wall art featured rich tapestries depicting scenes of frolicking nymphs and wall plaques molded to resemble relief sculptures of Bacchus, Aphrodite, Priapus, Daphne and the other Greek and Roman deities that the establishment patronized. The leather-upholstered furniture were strategically arranged between columns allowing its occupants a small measure of privacy. But despite its rather expensive and tasteful interior, the entire place reeked of hedonism and debauchery.

He made his way through the cloud of smoke from tobacco and opium, lips twisting with mild distaste. He nodded to his acquaintances as he passed them by. A premier duke of the realm greeted him with an intoxicated salute then rolled his eyes in rapture as a woman dressed as a Naiad dipped her head between his legs. A visiting French aristocrat grinned at him while leading a young woman who wore nothing but a corset and handcuffs up the staircase, undoubtedly into one of the rooms upstairs. If rumor was to be believed, the marquis was on the run for poisoning two prostitutes in Marseilles with the supposed aphrodisiac Spanish fly. He suppressed a shudder of disgust when he thought about the man's reputed appetite for torture. He barely noticed an earl, who also happened to be a business associate of his, since the nobleman's face was half buried in the full bosom of Venus while Dionysus was melting a spoon of sugar to dunk into the earl's shot of absinthe.

Only the elite of the elite were allowed entry into The Elysium. It was one of the very few establishments who catered to the men of high society actively pursuing the more 'scandalous' pleasures in life. It was so exclusive that one did not apply for membership but rather one was invited to join. And the recipient of such invitation would have to be insane not to accept for The Elysium was a hellfire club of stringent standards. Being a part of the upper crust of society alone did not ensure admission, one had to have the backing of at least five other members to get the coveted invitation. The men belonging to the club had several things in common: money, power, titles… and the reputation of being Europe's biggest libertines.

Blake Anthony McCain had all of the qualifications save one.

As far as he could remember, he had always been searching for a purpose in life. His father had taught him to read and write. As a child, endowed with the sharpest of minds, he would pore through volumes of books absorbing all the knowledge and information available to him. His intellect was so uncanny that he could read thick tomes in mere hours while it would take another weeks to finish. Complicated mathematical equations were easily calculated in his head in the time that it took a regular person to find pen and paper for writing down the formulas. By the time he was twelve, he had read through textbooks for higher learning, leaving his parents awed. His logic was impeccable, able to deconstruct problems and find solutions in a blink of an eye. And yet, his quest for life's meaning remained unfulfilled.

At age sixteen, he had decided that his life goal was to lift his family out of the genteel poverty that they had been living in thus far. Despite his mother's initial protest, he embarked on a ship to India, intent on making a fortune, believing that this was the one thing that was missing in his life. He knew that being a deckhand and a merchant's clerk was not the easiest of jobs but no amount of studying had prepared him for harsh reality. The life he chose was fraught with danger and the money was not as lucrative. But his keen mind dictated that he survive for it was a means to an end.

He pursued his dream with frightening single-mindedness. An opportunity presented itself when he realized that his mental prowess served him well in all manner of gaming. Cards were his forte. And although he never resorted to outright cheating, the ability to calculate odds and probabilities had many a times gotten him into trouble as sore losers cried foul play. When he could, he avoided fighting duels but there were times when it could not be helped. He had scrimped and saved his winnings and by the time that he turned twenty, he had amassed a small fortune that he daringly gambled in a card game against a merchant who traded silk and spices. His genius, and perhaps with a little help from Lady Luck, changed his life. He had walked out of the gaming hall owning a fleet of four ships.

He immediately returned to his home, eager to share his fortune, stories of adventure and future plans with his family... only to find that his father, mother and twin sisters had died in an accidental fire a week prior to his arrival. The vicar gently broke the news of his family's death. Much to the vicar's surprise, Blake did not shed a single tear nor did he rage as was expected from one who was bereaved. He had gone stiff, bracing against the grief, somehow rejecting the loss, full with the knowledge that it could destroy him. The display of tightly reined sorrow left the vicar unsettled, not quite understanding how Blake's cool and calm logic could easily suppress his emotions whenever he wished.

A week later, a messenger from England arrived bearing a letter from the Earl of Waynchilsea. Blake was stunned to find out that his father, Theodore, had been keeping a secret from him. He learned that his real surname should have been Wainwright – and that his father had been the heir to an earldom. The current earl, his grandfather, had disowned Theodore when he fell in love with Blake's mother, Moira, who had served as a maid in one of the earl's estates. Theodore had insisted on marrying Moira when he found out that he had impregnated her. A nobleman marrying a commoner was totally unheard of. That she was half Scot, half Irish made her even more undesirable in the eyes of the nobly born. Stubbornly, Theodore stood by Moira and forsook his inheritance. The couple eloped to Scotland to get married and Theodore took up Moira's maiden name in a bid for anonymity. They raised their little family in a happy and loving home, albeit a poor one, in the hamlet of Ardeonaig in Stirling.

In the letter, the earl had stated that it was his wish to heal the family rift and he wanted to start by naming Blake as his legitimate heir. Blake had felt a sudden contempt for the grandfather he never knew. He tore up the letter, flagrantly spurning his grandfather's olive branch offering. The earl had sent him similar letters over the years but all met the same fate in Blake's hands. It, however, gave him a new sense of purpose. Armed with his genius and audacity, he multiplied his fortune and holdings without difficulty. Power came naturally with the money and they brought with them the lifestyle of a debauched libertine. He flaunted all three to prove to his grandfather that he did not need a title to raise his station in life. High society, collectively known as the ton, readily granted him entrance into their drawing rooms. Rumors about his ancestry were whispered around, of course. And it did not help that his dark hair, blue eyes and chiseled features gave him a striking resemblance to his father. Moreover, Blake was fairly certain that his grandfather had likely started the rumors in the first place in order to pressure him into accepting his offer.

Having no formal title was largely a boon because the matchmaking mamas of the ton made landing a titled husband for their daughters a holy crusade. Had he accepted the title of Viscount Gottam, heir to the Earl of Waynchilsea, he would have been considered an excellent matrimonial prize. Vapid, virginal daughters would have been thrown his way – something that he neither had the desire nor the patience for. He did, however, have dalliances with women of 'the fast set' who he easily discarded when he lost interest. Rumors of his amorous affairs and the string of broken hearts he left behind set fire to the wagging tongues of the ton and in no time at all, he was dubbed 'Blake the Rake.'

For most part, the pursuit of power and pleasure gave him a direction for his otherwise empty existence. And at first, it was enough to keep him distracted. He was rich. He was sought after. He had proven himself to his grandfather. But his lifelong thirst for meaning remained unquenched. And no matter what he did, the desire for something more grew. Worse, he could not find the reason for the gaping void in his life. He felt as lost in the waking world as he was in his recurring nightmare. At thirty, he had become a hard, world-weary cynic unable to see the beautiful things that life had to offer.

He quickened his pace, wanting to get this meeting over and done with. He would much rather spend the rest of his night gaming at White's, yet another exclusive gentleman's club but with a less raffish reputation. The manager of The Elysium himself was waiting for him at the very last room in the back.

"Good evening, Mr. McCain," the man murmured, giving him a deep bow and an eager, pandering smile.

Blake inclined his head in impatient acknowledgment as he entered the dimly lit room.

"Ah, there you are, dear boy," a figure of a man rose from a high-backed chair. He was quite handsome, tall with a high forehead, clear open features and large blue eyes with a full and slightly wide mouth. Blake was certain that instead of wearing a short periwig with a small pigtail, the man had bizarrely decided to have his own hair bleached white and styled in the current fashion. He was clad in a fine gold-braided tail jacket and white britches. With an imperious wave of his hand, he commanded the two women with him to leave the room.

"Your Majesty," Blake bowed, hiding his wry smile at how the king addressed him as someone infinitely younger when the monarch was only four years older than him.

"Come, now," King George III scoffed. "Let us dispense with the formalities. Or would you like me to address you as 'my lord' as is your right?"

"Certainly not, George," Blake averred drolly. That he was on familiar terms with the king of England himself was a testament to how far he had climbed up the social ladder even without his grandfather's titles. "What brings us together tonight? And The Elysium of all places?"

The king motioned for him to sit down. Blake obliged and watched him walk over to the table by the fireplace, unstoppering the decanter of brandy and pouring its contents into two glasses. He quirked an eyebrow when the king handed him one.

Blake murmured his thanks as he accepted the glass. Somebody needs a favor it seems, he thought.

"As you know," George sat down on the chair across him. "I am a man of science. I believe you attended the inauguration of my astronomical observatory?"

"I believe I did," Blake replied blandly. He took a sip of his drink, observing the monarch from the brim of his glass, trying to reason out what the man wanted from him.

"Do you believe that there are intelligent life forms out there, Blake?"

Blake frowned. Where is he going with this? "The universe is a vast place, Sire. It will be the height of arrogance to think that humans are the only ones capable of intelligent thought," he said aloud.

"Precisely," George smiled in satisfaction. "We are pleased that you agree."

His eyes narrowed warily at the use of the royal plural. Rulers often used it to assert the 'divine right of kings,' implying that they are subject to no earthly authority, deriving the right to rule directly from the will of God, that he acted conjointly with the deity. It usually came before a royal edict. And having King George insinuate that 'God and I' were pleased that Blake agreed gave him a slight sense of uneasiness. After all, there were whispers that the king's eccentricity stemmed from insanity.

"And would you also agree," the king continued, watching his face closely. "That perhaps some of them might already call our planet their home?"

Blake kept his features neutral and met the king's intense gaze unflinchingly. "I have to admit I have not given the idea much thought."

"Then, perhaps it is time that you do."

Blake cocked a questioning eyebrow.

"We want you to investigate this phenomenon further… circumspectly, of course," the king explained. "We are convinced that these… creatures… are plotting rather nefarious schemes against the Crown."

"Me? Acting as your covert agent?" Blake gave the king a look of sham astonishment. He leaned back on his chair and placed an ankle over his knee, the perfect picture of an indolent gentleman. "Surely, Sire, you have more qualified personnel than I at your disposal."

The king threw his head back and shouted with laughter. "I salute you for having convinced the entire populace that you are nothing more than a profligate libertine but we see past your ruse, Blake the Rake."

Themyscira

"Lesson number one," Diana said gravely, walking forward in a stalking stride. She stopped a few inches from a crouching, panting young girl. She planted her feet, legs spread, and hands on hips in an intimidating stance. "Never – "

" – Hold yourself back. I know, I know," the dark-haired girl finished in a singsong voice.

Diana frowned in consternation. "You really should take your training more seriously, Donna."

"Oh, but I do, sister. I enjoy it so much that I actually look forward to losing to you." With an impish grin, she stood up and brushed herself off. "Shall we go for a swim?"

"We are not done here yet," Diana shook her head at the impulsive teenager.

Donna grabbed her sister's wrist and started dragging her toward the trail that led to their favorite waterfall. "Yes, we are. You beat me. I surrender. That's it."

"Amazons do not surrender," Diana stated, almost by rote. "We –"

"This Amazon just did," Donna interrupted gaily. "Come on, Di."

Diana bit back a fond smile and despite her more superior strength, she allowed her younger sister to pull her all the way to the small and secluded pool where they usually took baths. Days were never boring when the young Amazon was around. Donna had been a blessing, in more ways than one.

A little over a decade and a half ago, the gods had sent Hippolyta herself out on a mission. Most believed that the queen had gone to Patriarch's World but only a handful knew that Hippolyta had, in fact, been sent to another world – one of the many worlds that mirrored, to some point or another, their plane of existence. In her mother's absence, Diana had been appointed Princess Regent. It was then when she had her first taste of what it was like to be the ruler of a nation. Two years later, Hippolyta came back, her belly swollen with child.

It had not been an easy pregnancy. Something had gone horribly wrong during the delivery. The babe had been stillborn. But with the aid of Themyscira's magical clay, the very same clay used to heal Diana's near fatal injuries centuries ago, Epione breathed life into the infant. Having a baby to mind brought a refreshing break from Diana's usual rigid and rigorous daily routine. She had helped her mother take care of Donna and when the time came for Donna to begin her Amazon training, Diana had become one of her mentors not only in matters of combat but in academics as well.

As blood sisters, they bore a striking physical resemblance to each other. But where Diana's eyes were serious and intense, Donna's glinted with a mischievousness that could be quite exasperating. She had the tendency to play pranks on her trainers and the promise of severe punishment only served as a temporary deterrent. As Amazons, they shared the same fierce tenacity and unwavering courage that marked their tribe. But where Diana exuded the strength of character acquired from centuries of bearing hardships, heartbreak and obligation, Donna had the insurmountable optimism of one who was untouched by the sorrow and corruption of the outside world. And being the 'spare heir,' the younger princess could afford to be more easy-going and lighthearted since she did not have to carry the burden of being next in line to the throne. Regardless, Donna took to her studies with an enthusiasm that Diana admired. The child had the natural athleticism and intellect that showed much promise.

"Philippus will not be amused if she finds out you've been lagging behind in your training," Diana warned.

"Philippus," Donna snorted, sticking out her tongue. "The woman simply does not have a sense of humor, Di. I do not know who's worse, her or Artemis."

Diana could not help but chuckle at Donna's youthful impertinence. Ah, to be young and carefree again… she thought wistfully. Her smile faltered a little. The face that she held locked deep in her heart floated in front of her mind's eye. In most days, she was able to keep the face in the periphery of her consciousness, holding her heartache at bay. But every night, when she slept, when she did not have full control of her thoughts, the same face haunted her dreams without fail. Some were happy dreams. Some were horrible nightmares. Recently, her dreams had become more vivid, more… urgent. In these dreams, she was back in the Schwarzwald. He was looking for her and although she was right in front of him, it seemed that he could not see her through the thick mist that blanketed the godforsaken forest.

Don't, she reminded herself sternly. Don't think about him. Just. Don't.

Too late… the face that brought her so much joy, and so much sorrow at the same time, solidified in her memory. For the better part of two centuries, Diana had struggled with the darkness that resulted from her brief yet life-shattering encounter with Bryce. At first, she had tried to convince herself that perhaps it was better that things turned out the way they did because their relationship was doomed to fail anyway. Nevertheless, Diana had kept his sword by her bedside, running her hand lovingly over the ancient blade, crying herself to sleep.

Over time, grief gave way to anger. Her tortured conscience and broken heart ceaselessly besieged her, always blaming herself for what happened. You should have been faster, stronger and protected him better... If you only told him who you were, he would not have recklessly sought revenge... You could have gone back for him... Should have… would have… could have… She cursed her immortality, raging at the cruelty of having to live forever with the pain of loss. Diana had even resorted to bargaining. Every night before she slept, she prayed fervently to Aphrodite to give her another chance to make things right by Bryce. She would light a candle to the Fates, irrationally begging them to turn back time. Her prayers remained unheard until finally, after over a hundred years, she sunk into hopelessness, unwillingly accepting that Bryce would have passed on after all this time and that she would never be given the chance to make amends to him. The Amazon in her was appalled at how pathetic and erratic she had become. He's just a man, she told herself harshly. There has to be more to life than pining over a mortal.

She then decided to pour all her grief and torment into her training. She had even gone on missions for the gods, usually of the magical sort. Once, she and Artemis had been sent on an assignment to the Underworld to retrieve a nymph's enchanted necklace that was stolen by a demon. Diana had been so cold and calculating in slaying a legion of fiends that even the usually aggressive Artemis commented on how Diana was becoming a little bit too brutal, a little bit too ruthless. Alexa was no less worried even if she was privy to why Diana was disillusioned with her life. Philippus, sensing that there was something more to the princess' change in behavior than met the eye, decided that it was time for her to intensify her training with Pythia, the Amazons' spiritual mentor.

'You are conflicted because you have forgotten who you are,' Pythia had told her.
'The problem is precisely because I have not," Diana had replied bitterly.
'Really, now…' the mystic had given her a look that clearly said Diana did not know anything at all. 'Tell me, then. Who are you?'
'I am Diana of Themyscira, Princess of the Amazons.'
'You are, aren't you? But who are you?' The woman's condescending smile and redundant question had infuriated Diana.

For nearly a decade, Pythia led Diana through a series of spirit quests aimed to help her rediscover herself and figure out how to deal with the demons within. It had been an arduously painful journey. She saw what was… what is… what might have been… and what could be. She saw the world… and several other worlds. Every time she awakened from her trance, she had felt more confused than when she went under. And each time, Pythia had asked her the same question.

'Who are you?'

The answer had eluded Diana… until the birth of Donna. When she held her tiny little sister in her arms, she had felt an instant bond. After centuries of despair, she had felt a tiny spark of hope ignite within her bosom. As Donna grew under Diana's tutelage, so did her feeling of hope. Donna, in her innocence and optimism, had reminded Diana that despite the seemingly star-crossed paths, she should be thankful that, even for the shortest time, she had been with the one person who completed her. The scar of losing the one she loved did not fade and it still ached from time to time. Diana knew that the pain will always be a part of her but slowly, she learned how to smile again.

A loud splash and the spray of water on her face brought her back to the present.

"Well?" Donna brushed back her wet hair and looked up at her expectantly.

Diana blinked still a bit disoriented from her reverie. "Well what?"

"Haven't you been listening?" Donna pouted, floating on her back. "When will I get powers like yours?"

"You need to be patient, Donna," her lips twisted with irony. Me, giving advice about patience, she thought with a small shake of her head. She kicked off her sandals and shimmied out of her tunic. She dove in, joining Donna in the cool, refreshing water. "These things take time," she said when she came up for air.

"Tell me again why."

Diana unconsciously took on a lecturing tone. "We Amazons derive our strength, stamina and even our immortality from our mystical link to the Earth itself."

"Granted to us by Demeter," Donna said, proudly recalling what she read in the archives.

"Very good," Diana nodded approvingly. "And just like an infant must first learn how to crawl before she can learn how to run, we need to grow into our powers. The older we get, the better we become in controlling our gifts – because the only thing that can surpass super strength is the power of the mind. You must learn how to control it so as not to injure those who are weaker than you. And one day, your training will allow you to use pure mental energy to augment what was already given to you."

"But you, sister, have been set above all others," Donna smiled, playfully splashing Diana with water. "The gods and goddesses of Olympus have seen it fit to endow you with abilities that can potentially equal their own. 'Beautiful as Aphrodite, wise as Athena, swifter than Hermes, and stronger than Hercules,'" Donna quoted. "Is it because you are the heir to the throne?"

"Perhaps," Diana laughed mirthlessly. "But I am not quite near the level of the gods just yet. Although, Mother has told me that if I truly believe that I can do it, anything is possible."

"Di?" Donna looked at her hesitantly.

"Hmm?" Diana tilted her head to the side, feeling Donna's sudden unease. "What bothers you, Don?"

"Promise you won't get angry?"

Diana rolled her eyes. "What have you done now?"

"It's nothing like that…" Donna shook her head, looking away.

Diana waited silently knowing that the younger Amazon was more likely to share her thoughts if she was not forced.

"I… I have been having strange dreams lately," Donna began. "I'm pretty sure that it's… it's about a… a man."

Diana's eyebrows shot to her hairline.

"Silly, I know," Donna continued. She turned her troubled eyes to Diana. "I couldn't see his face clearly but in my dream, he was in a dark forest. And he was…"

Diana's heartbeat thundered in her ears. "He was what?" she whispered.

"He was looking for you."

Diana walked into her dark room, confused. Donna's revelation had shaken her to the core.

Coincidence? She thought. I know Donna and I share a bond but is it that strong that I could somehow project my own dreams into hers? Or is there some other reason why she would dream the same dream?

Despite her preoccupation, Diana sensed a presence in her room. She immediately took on a defensive stance.

"I know you're there," she warned in a hard voice. "Show yourself."

A musical giggle greeted her. "I'm a lover not a fighter, Princess."

An orb of light suddenly began to glow in the middle of the room. It pulsed and grew until it took the form of a beautiful, voluptuous, golden-haired woman. She wore a pale pink one-shouldered peplos made from the sheerest of materials. The soft, flimsy, billowing dress left nothing to the imagination. She gave Diana a dazzling smile.

"Apologies, my lady. I did not realize it was you," Diana promptly bowed in deference. "How may I serve the Goddess of Love?"

Aphrodite walked toward her. The goddess reached out and placed two fingers under Diana's chin forcing her to meet her probing eyes.

"Hmm, still in so much pain…" Aphrodite observed.

Diana kept her features perfectly composed. "Surely, my lady did not come down from Olympus to attend to such a… trivial matter."

"You wound me, Diana," the goddess' pretty pout belied a silent reprimand. "The welfare of my Champion will always be important to me."

Where were you when I desperately prayed for your help? The rebellious thought crossed Diana's mind, an unbidden echo of a distant memory. 'The gods have always been petty. They take pleasure in meddling with our lives only when it pleases them. But where are they now? Now when we need them the most?'

Aphrodite chuckled as if she heard her thoughts. "But you are right," she acceded. She turned around and took a seat on the divan at the foot of Diana's bed. "I have a more pressing concern that needs your immediate attention."

"I stand ready, my lady."

"My ever recalcitrant daughter, Eris, has escaped from her prison in Tartarus. And, as you know, she does have the uncontrollable urge to sow chaos in the world," a melodramatic sigh escaped the goddess' luscious lips. "Why she had to take after her father instead of me, I will never understand."

"Bring her back, Diana."

"Consider it done, my lady." Diana made her way to her armorium, a simple wooden chest where she kept her weapons and armor.

"And, oh," Aphrodite said nonchalantly. "Diana?"

Diana threw a questioning look over her shoulder.

Aphrodite stood up and pulled something out from her back. "I took the liberty of having Hephaestus reforge your favorite sword."